In Clive's Command eBook

“Wishing is no use, my dear. I vow the
Frenchman shall pay dearly for this insolence.
We must make the best of it.”

Meanwhile Monsieur de Bonnefon had gone down to the
ghat. But he did not send a messenger to Chandernagore
as he had promised. He told the jamadar, in Urdu,
that his mistress and the chota bibi would remain at
his house for the night. They feared another accident
if they should proceed in the darkness. He bade
the man bring his party to the house, where they would
all find accommodation until the morning.

In the small hours of that night there was a short
sharp scuffle in the servants’ quarters.
The Merriman boatmen and peons were set upon by a
score of sturdy men who promptly roped them together,
and, hauling them down to the ghat and into a boat,
rowed them up to Hugli. There they were thrown
into the common prison.

In the morning a charge of dacoity {gang robbery}
was laid against them. The story was that they
had been apprehended in the act of breaking into the
house of Monsieur Sinfray. Plenty of witnesses
were forthcoming to give evidence against them; such
can be purchased outside any cutcherry in India for
a few rupees. The men were convicted. Some
were given a choice between execution and service
in the Nawab’s army; others were sentenced
offhand to a term of imprisonment, and these considered
themselves lucky in escaping with their lives.
In vain they protested their innocence and pleaded
that a messenger might be sent to Calcutta; the Nawab
was known to be so much incensed against the English
that the fact of their being Company’s servants
would probably avail them nothing.

About the same time that the men were being condemned,
a two-ox hackeri, such as was used for the conveyance
of pardarnishin {literally, sitting behind screens}
women, left the house of Monsieur de Bonnefon and drove
inland for some five miles. The curtains were
closely drawn, and the people who met it on the road
wondered from what zenana the ladies thus screened
from the public gaze had come. The team halted
at a lonely house surrounded by a high wall, once
the residence of a zamindar, now owned by Coja Solomon
of Cossimbazar, and leased to a fellow Armenian
of Chandernagore. It had been hired more than
once by Monsieur Sinfray, the secretary to the Council
at Chandernagore and a persona grata with the Nawab,
for al fresco entertainments got up in imitation of
the fetes at Versailles. But of late Monsieur
Sinfray had had too much important business on hand
to spare time for such delights. He was believed
to be with Sirajuddaula at Murshidabad, and the house
had remained untenanted.

The hackeri pulled up at the gate in the wall.
The curtains were drawn aside; a group of peons surrounded
the cart to fend off prying eyes; and the passengers
descended—­two ladies clad in long white
saris {garment in one piece, covering the body from
head to foot} and closely veiled. A sleek Bengali
had already got out from a palanquin which had accompanied
the hackeri; in a second palanquin sat Monsieur de
Bonnefon, who did not take the trouble to alight.